


The Lengths That I Will Go To - Interludes

by Politzania



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Asexuality Spectrum, Early 90's AU, Eventual Smut, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pining, Power Bottom, Slow Build, The Author Regrets Nothing, alternate POV, blowjob, shower sexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-10-10 18:16:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10444104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Politzania/pseuds/Politzania
Summary: Ficlets set within the universe/timeline of my  Stony early 90's AU  longfic -The Lengths That I Will Go ToChapter 1 - IntroductionGeneral rating  (Read this if you haven't read the main fic)Chapter 2 -  Peggy POV  1- General ratingChapter 3 -  Steve and Tony - Interlude 1- Mature ratingChapter 4 - Peggy POV 2- General ratingChapter 5 - Clint POV- General ratingChapter 6 - Steve & Tony - Interlude 2- Mature ratingChapter 7 - Steve & Tony - Interlude 3- Mature/Explicit ratingChapter 8 - Steve & Tony - Interlude 4- Mature/Explicit ratingChapter 9 - Clint POV- General ratingChapter 10 - Clint POV- General ratingChapter 11 - Nadia POV- General ratingChapter 12 - Pepper POV- General ratingRatings vary with each chapter - any other warnings will appear in the summary as well.NOTE: The Clint POV chapters are kind of their own side story, for what that's worth, wrapping up (so far) with Chapter 11.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Lengths That I Will Go To](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8761084) by [Politzania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Politzania/pseuds/Politzania). 



> So, this is pretty much an indulgence - as I felt the desire to write not only some semi-smut to fill in the "fade to black" transitions in the main fic, but also to provide other characters' perspectives on the events of the overall story. I write to please myself, but I hope you will enjoy as well.

If, by some inexplicable happenstance, you’ve gotten here without reading **The Lengths That I Will Go To** , Let me ‘splain…No, there is too much. Let me sum up. 

In the summer of 1991, Howard Stark finds not only the wreck of the Valkyrie in the ice of the Arctic, but also the only mostly-dead Captain Steven Grant Rogers. Keeping this all a secret because of Reasons, he whisks the Capsicle back to his NYC mansion. Howard tasks the expedition medic Sam Wilson and family friend Dr. Miriam Jarvis, with caring for the thawed out super-soldier. His son, Tony, (recently returned home after a few years in Boston post-MIT) decides to help out. 

Tony’s childhood hero-worship of Captain America and subsequent teenage infatuation [mark off ‘bisexual!Tony Stark’ on your bingo cards now] flares up with a vengeance. Cue the pining and pop culture references. A dramatic moment spurs hotel room/bed sharing which becomes apartment sharing [more bingo card spots]. Could the pining be mutual? Of course it is - mark that off your bingo cards as well. The UST is terrible - and yes, it lasts - all the way to Chapter 25. Another Dramatic Action Scene FINALLY spurs the Declarations of Love and subsequent kissing parts. However, unlike many fics, where our happy couple jumps into bed and humps like bunnies, this one stays firmly Teen-rated. Our boys take it slow and have further adventures with familiar faces as the year comes to a close. 

So - why the companion fic? Well, the ‘fade to black’ of the main fic just as our faves are feeling romantic might be a bit frustrating to some (including the author). So here you will find a couple of interludes that shed light on the sexytimes. But it’s not all smut. You see, the story isn’t just “watch two idiots gradually realize how much in love they are with each other” -- there’s also plot and intrigue, action and tragedy. So alternate POVs, other off-screen shenanigans and various headcanons etc. are all likely possibilities. Tell me what you want to read and I’ll see if the muse is inspired. Allow me the indulgence of giving y’all a look behind the scenes of **The Lengths that I Will Go To**.


	2. Peggy POV - 1 of 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy's POV on hearing the news of Howard's discovery of the Valkyrie, as well as an update from Dr. Miriam Jarvis once Steve arrives at the Stark homestead. Rated General - no warnings.

She was washing up the dishes after dinner when the phone rang. 

“Hello?” 

“Peggy? It’s Maria, Maria Stark. Do you have a few moments?” 

“Maria - what a pleasant surprise!” And it was indeed a surprise to hear from her. For despite having been a somewhat frequent guest at the Stark household, Peggy had always assumed that the younger woman considered her primarily a colleague of Howard’s... perhaps an acquaintance at most. “Yes, I can talk - just finishing up some housework. Is something going on with Howard? Or Tony?” She couldn’t fathom another reason Maria might call out of the blue. 

“Well, yes and no,” Maria replied with an odd note of concern and perhaps reluctance in her voice that got Peggy’s attention. “Howard found the Valkyrie... and Captain Rogers.” 

“Ah.” Peggy found herself speechless for a moment. She had suspected for some time that the Stark Industries Arctic Exploration project had something to do with the search for the lost Hydra bomber. And while she had long since come to peace with losing Steve, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of melancholy. But at least now he would be brought home and proper respects could be paid.

Caught up in her own thoughts for a moment, Peggy thought she had misheard Maria’s next words. “Sorry, could you repeat that?” she asked. 

“Peggy... he’s alive. Steve Rogers is alive.” Peggy fumbled for the kitchen chair, sitting down heavily as she tried to make sense of Maria’s words. “I don’t know much more than that right now,” Maria continued, “Howard’s message was excruciatingly brief. We’re sending a jet to Greenland to meet the expedition and, so help me, putting together an ICU suite here at the house. I assume that means he needs some sort of medical care. Miriam’s coming to help - she’s a doctor now; just finished her internship. Howard wants everything kept hush-hush, but I thought you should know.” 

“Thank you, Maria,” Peggy replied absently. She could scarcely believe it. That Steve had somehow survived not only the plane crash, but decades in the snow and ice of the Arctic. She tamped down her hopes and replied. “I think Howard’s got the right idea. There’s no need to inform the press until we know more about Captain Rogers’ condition. But, please, do keep in touch.” 

“Of course, Peggy,” Maria said, with unexpected kindness. She’d only ever known Peggy as a married woman, but perhaps -- thanks to Howard telling the 'fondue' and 'shooting the shield' stories around the dinner table, along with the Smithsonian interviews for the Captain America retrospective -- she just might have recognized that there had been something more than camaraderie between Captain Rogers and Agent Carter. 

“Thank you for calling, Maria. Let me know if I can do anything to help.” Peggy hung up the phone and took a deep breath. She dabbed at her eyes with the dishtowel, then returned to her work. 

\---------

“Mrs. Carter? This is Miriam Jarvis. Mrs. Stark asked me to call you. It’s regarding their houseguest. Please call the Stark residence at your earliest convenience.” She read off a contact number before hanging up. That was all there was to the brief, cryptic message on their answering machine. Peggy played the message twice to jot down the number, and it seemed to pique her husband’s interest. 

“Well, well... what’s this all about, then?” he asked in his best (but still awful) cockney accent. “I thought Miss Jarvis was over at Georgetown, not back in New York.” Peggy hadn’t said anything to him yet about Howard’s discovery; not so much as to keep it a secret, but more that she wanted more confirmation before sharing such momentous news. 

“Let me find out, darling,” She kissed him, then went into the study to make the phone call. 

“Stark residence.” 

“Hello, Mr. Jarvis -- it’s Peggy Carter. I’m returning Miriam’s call.” 

“Ah, yes. Just a moment.” There was a brief clicking sound, and then another voice on the line.

“Mrs. Carter?” 

“Yes, Miriam. I assume you have some news about Captain Rogers?” Peggy was relieved to hear her voice coming out so calmly. She didn’t know if Miriam had come to the same conclusions that Maria had and wanted to keep her own emotions in check. 

“I just wanted to let you know he arrived safely and is resting comfortably, as best we can tell. He hasn’t regained consciousness since his discovery; and considering everything that’s happened, it’s not a sure thing that he will. I mean, obviously, it’s a miracle that he’s alive at all, but I don’t know how much more we can expect from the serum, after the injuries he seems to have sustained. Tony’s been helping me with the Project Rebirth archives research, but it only goes so far.” The poor girl sounded exhausted so Peggy excused her rambling. Peggy chose to interrupt simply to give her a chance to catch her breath. 

“Tony? Oh, that’s right, he’s back in New York now, isn't he? And getting into a bit of mischief, according to the papers."

“I'm afraid so," Miriam responded. "Anyways, Mr. Stark refuses to let me take Rogers to a hospital for a proper evaluation so I’m stuck with the equipment Mrs. Stark was able to locate, and the only help I have is the medic who was on the expedition. He’s good, but no replacement for a full medical staff and diagnostic tools. We’re supposed to be getting an EEG in a day or two, so that will hopefully give us more information. I wish I had better news.” 

“It sounds like you’re doing everything you can, Doctor Jarvis.” Peggy stressed her title, hoping that would boost the girl's confidence. “Is Mr. Stark available?” Peggy spent the last few minutes of the call with Howard, telling him that she’d be coming up tomorrow to talk with him in person about the discovery and consider how to proceed. 

“I know it must have been a shock for you, Peg,” Howard said, surprising her with a bit of compassion. “I honestly didn’t think we’d find anything more than a body to bring home. If Rogers pulls through, just think what it could mean. And not just having him on our side again. Considering the medical advances of the past fifty years, there’s so much we can learn.”

“Let’s not count our chickens before the eggs have hatched, Howard. We’ll talk more tomorrow. Good night.” She hung up the phone and took a moment to compose herself. She shouldn’t have been surprised that Howard would immediately think of advantages and opportunities instead of the man who he had rescued and what challenges he might face, should he recover. But that was something to consider for the coming days; she had some important news to impart first. 

“Dearest,” Peggy said, sitting down next to her husband on the sofa, “I need to go to New York tomorrow. It seems a ghost from my past has come calling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there is more Peggy POV coming in an future installment. 
> 
> Tell me what else you want to see, either in the comments or over on my [ Tumblr](https://polizwrites.tumblr.com/). Many thanks as always to my awesome beta, @hddnone!


	3. Steve and Tony - Interlude 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony finally reach the next stage of physical intimacy in their relationship.
> 
> Rated Mature -- tagging for handjobs, mutual masturbation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just prior to this interlude, Tony shared some of his insecurities about getting more physical with Steve. Steve's reassurances apparently did the trick...

While Tony was brushing his teeth and washing his face, he cast a speculative eye on a bottle of lotion and the stack of hand towels. Before he had a change to second-guess himself, he scooped them up. Best to be prepared; he wasn’t sure he could cope with another round of frustrated arousal. 

Tony set his burden down on the nightstand in the bedroom and glanced at Steve, whose heated look of anticipation sent a reciprocal flash through his body. Steve slowly unbuttoned his shirt, setting the studs one by one on the dresser, and Tony did the same. They took their time getting undressed, Tony letting Steve take the lead. 

Steve stripped all the way down. While Tony had gotten the general lay of the land from their previous, partially clothed make out sessions, seeing Steve in all his glory took Tony’s breath away. Steve blushed a little under Tony’s gaze, then cleared his throat and gave Tony a pointed look. So he removed his last item of clothing -- a favorite pair of silk boxers -- and felt his own face heating up. Compared to Steve, he was nothing special; even the tattoo on his hip was more geeky than anything, being a diagram of a caffeine molecule. But Steve looked at him as if he were a priceless work of art. 

Steve pulled back the covers, then stretched out lazily on the bed. “Join me, sugar?” Tony went to turn the lights off, but Steve asked, “Mind leaving ‘em on? I want to look at ya.” Which was both indescribably hot and a little terrifying, but he left the switch alone. 

He joined Steve in the bed, and they started with familiar territory -- slow, deep kisses and hands stroking over each others arms and backs. Despite knowing they’d disappear by morning, Tony left a few playful love bites on Steve’s neck, and Steve in turn renewed his mark from earlier that evening. “So far, so good?” Steve asked. Tony hummed his affirmation and moved closer, wanting to feel as much of Steve’s body against his as possible. 

Tony was well aware of how much he craved physical contact, and he had what he thought was a fairly substantial amount of experience with other naked people. But no one had ever touched him like Steve did, as if he were somehow worthy of adoration. In turn, he found himself exploring with equal reverence. He had a general roadmap to follow in terms of what Steve liked, but full-body, skin on skin contact added a whole new dimension. 

Needless to say, they were both incredibly aroused, and Tony would have been perfectly happy for them to rub up against one another for as long as it took (not long at all in his case, he suspected), but when Steve’s hand slipped down to his hip, and he said, “Lay back, darlin’. Let me touch you,” he was powerless to resist. Tony closed his eyes at the first light stroke up his length, a low moan escaping his lips. He felt as much as heard Steve’s low chuckle. “You like that, doll?” 

“God, yes! More, please...” As Steve gave him what he asked for, Tony chased his lover’s lips with his own, suddenly greedy for every bit of pleasure he could get. Steve indulged him for a moment, then pulled away with a wicked grin as he reached over to the nightstand for the bottle of lotion. As Steve added the cool slickness, wrapping his hand one more around Tony’s shaft, he found himself suddenly teetering on the brink of release. 

“Oh, so damn close, baby, please don’t stop,” Tony babbled. Steve’s sudden kiss, fierce and hard and hot was all he needed to tip over the edge. Steve gentled him through the aftershocks, whispering sweet nothings into his ear as Tony tried to catch his breath. A sense of contentment and comfort wrapped around him like a soft blanket. He’d never felt like this afterwards... except for in that dream that seemed like so long ago. 

While his first inclination was to fall asleep in his beloved’s arms, once he opened his eyes and saw Steve’s hungry look, Tony was filled with the need to return the pleasure he’d been given. He kissed Steve deep and dirty, then said, “That was amazing -- but now it’s my turn.” 

Steve lay back with an expectant look. Tony wanted to draw things out a little, with slow caresses of his lover’s thighs, gentle tracing of his hips and abs; but the soft, needy whines those touches were wringing out of Steve were driving him a little crazy in turn. So as he felt around in the blankets for the discarded bottle, Tony wrapped his hand around Steve and squeezed a little as he stroked. The throaty moan he heard in response was music to his ears. 

“Is that what you want, loverboy? Nice and slow, or hard and fast?” Tony murmured against Steve’s lips as he added lotion to ease the way. 

“Yes. More. Please,” came the staccato reply. So Tony alternated quick, sharp strokes with slow caresses, telling Steve how wonderful he looked and how good he felt. And that was no lie; any qualms he’d had about touching and being touched so intimately by another man had been swept away. This was what Tony had wanted for so long; for even in such a simple act, they were making love. 

As Steve murmured that he was getting close, Tony kissed him gently. “Let yourself go, darling, let me make you come.” And with a few erratic thrusts and a sharp exhale, he did. Tony slowed his touch and waited for those gorgeous blue eyes to open back up. 

“Hey there, handsome.”

“Hey yourself,” Steve answered breathlessly. Tony passed over a towel, and they both started cleaning up. Steve glanced over at Tony and commented, “Looks like you’ve still got some fight in you there, doll.” He wasn’t wrong -- getting Steve off had been quite the turn-on. “Want to go for a second round?” The spark in Steve’s eyes promised all sorts of pleasures. 

“I’m game if you are, sunshine.”


	4. Peggy 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During her visit to New York and the Stark Mansion, Peggy visits with a not-yet-conscious Steve.

Throughout the ride to the Stark mansion, Peggy kept reminding herself that the main reason she was here was to talk with Howard about the Valkyrie and if there were anything that SHIELD should know about. Howard didn’t get along with the current Director and she’d been acting as an informal go-between since her retirement. 

The discovery of the Tesseract along the plane’s presumed flightpath led them all to believe that there might have been other dangerous technology stashed away as cargo. Howard had failed to mention any discoveries in their brief talk the previous night, but that didn’t mean much. He always spoke more freely in person than on the phone. 

She also wanted to visit with Tony, as it had been nearly a year since she’d last seen him. And while she knew the papers tended to exaggerate, Peggy was concerned about his recent behaviour; particularly his 21st birthday party and that unfortunate video. She knew had the potential to outshine his father, and she refused to stand by and let him fritter it away. 

Peggy had called ahead to get the current gate security code, which meant Edwin Jarvis was already waiting at the Stark mansion door as she came up the walkway. “Director Carter, such a pleasure to see you again.” 

“Hello, my dear Edwin, how are you and Ana?” she replied, taking his hand warmly, while declining to correct his form of address. Once a director, always a director, she supposed. 

“Quite well, thank you. I’m afraid Sir is on a call with the SI Far East representative. He may be some time.”

“I see. Well, perhaps Maria and I can chat in the meanwhile. Is she available?” 

“Madam is ... currently indisposed,” Jarvis replied discreetly. “The past several days have been rather hectic, as I'm sure you can imagine.” Peggy nodded in understanding. She was aware of Maria’s ‘high-strung nature’ and her preferred coping mechanism. 

“I don’t suppose my godson is around?” she asked, with a smile. “That is, if he still has time for an old woman like me ...” 

“I’m sure he’d love to see you, ma’am. I believe he’s currently upstairs in the west wing.” There was a note of hesitation in Jarvis’ voice, but he didn’t elaborate. 

“Then I’ll go say hello. Please let me know when Howard is done with his call.” Peggy requested. 

“Of course, ma’am.” Jarvis bowed slightly, and Peggy went to find Tony. As she climbed the stairs, she heard him speaking to someone. She wondered for a moment if he were entertaining a visitor, which would explain Jarvis’ reticence. But as she didn’t hear anyone else responding, she supposed he was simply on the phone. 

As Peggy walked down the hall, she heard Tony curse, then an indistinct murmur. Stepping to the open door, she realized just who he was talking to. “Um, sorry, yeah, it’s probably a little uncomfortable for you to hear a guy say how hot he thinks you look, right?” Then, apparently realizing what he’d said, Tony backpedaled, apologizing all the way. “Oh god, I didn’t mean to say that, I really... I swear I am not hitting on you, Rogers. Please don’t beat me into a pulp when you wake up...” 

“Oh, Anthony. Steve would never do that,” she said without thinking. Taking in the scene, she saw Steve in a hospital bed, with machines surrounding him, attached to him. She couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t really him; that they’d nicked a wax figure from Madame Tussaud’s instead. He was so still and pale, paler than when they’d first met, before the serum. 

And then there was her godson, looking guilty, for some reason. She saw the shaving gear and reflected on his words - did he really find Steve attractive? And if so, what exactly did that mean? When Tony expressed surprise at her appearance, she explained that she was at the house to talk to his father. Tony then justified his presence at Steve’s bedside, saying that he was watching over Steve while Miriam and the medic were taking a break. He mentioned that talking to coma patients was believed to assist with their recovery. 

“So, they believe Steve’s in some sort of coma? Do they know if ... when... he might regain consciousness?” she asked. Recalling Miriam’s skepticism, nonetheless she found herself hoping the situation had somehow changed. But Tony’s response simply confirmed that there were no new developments. 

At an alarm from his watch, Tony checked the machines surrounding Steve, jotting down notes on a clipboard. He then handed her the clipboard, suggesting she look through the notes explaining Steve's condition. “In the meanwhile,” he gestured to the tray of shaving gear, “I’ll get this cleaned up.” Tony took the tray into the attached WC and closed the door. So clever; giving her both an excuse to stay and a bit of privacy. 

Peggy pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed. “Hello, Steve. It’s Peggy. Peggy Carter.” She took a moment to look, really look at him. Time had blurred the edges of her memories, blunted the emotions. But it all came back, rolling over her like a wave, and she found herself taking his free hand to anchor herself. “If only you hadn’t been so blasted stubborn and given us your coordinates, Steve. We could have come for you a great deal sooner.” She pressed his hand to her cheek, and it came away wet. 

Peggy swallowed, took a shaky breath, and continued. “We won the war -- they probably told you that -- and I stayed with the SSR. I worked here for awhile, in New York, then went out to Los Angeles. Do you remember telling us about the movie stars you met when you were out there on tour?” She smiled a little at the memory, how his men had teased Steve, asking which starlets he’d tried to make time with. 

“I ended up in the capital, where Howard, Colonel Phillips and I reorganized the SSR into a specialized intelligence organization. We made the mistake of letting Howard name it: ‘Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division’. He thought he was so clever, naming it SHIELD. We've done a lot of good over the years, I think, albeit mostly behind the scenes. Would you believe I was even director for a time?” Of course he would. Steve had always believed in her, seen what she was capable of when it seemed no one else did; the same way she saw his potential from the very beginning. But she had more than just her career to tell Steve about. 

“Along the way... I met someone. We got married, had two lovely daughters, one of whom is a mother herself, now. I kept working, of course, as much as I could. Admittedly, I couldn't exactly chase after miscreants when I was with child, but I found other tasks to keep me busy during that time. I’ve been very fortunate, and am pleased with the way my life has worked out.” She looked at their hands: hers no longer dainty; the knuckles swollen with arthritis, wearing the same ring her husband had placed on her finger four decades earlier. His hands were broad and callused, pale but still quite warm. 

“But one always wonders, doesn’t one?” she added, after several moments of silence. “‘Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both’. You understand that I had to make a choice - that I couldn’t stand at the fork forever, don’t you? That by going on with my life, I was respecting the choice you made.” She felt a faint squeeze, as if he was telling her that yes, he did understand. Her eyes flashed to his face, but it was still slack and expressionless. No, Peggy thought, it was simply an errant muscle spasm, nothing more. 

She stood, took a deep breath and dabbed at her still-damp cheeks as she walked over to the door of the WC. She’d said what she came to say to Steve, but perhaps still needed to talk with her godson. She knocked, and when Tony opened the door, she smiled and said, "Thank you, dear boy."


	5. Clint 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agent Clint Barton uses his unorthodox problem solving skills to the test to elicit a response from the mysterious young woman that SHIELD currently has in custody.

Clint was walking down the hall when he heard one of his least favorite superiors say, “You know what we need to do, Coulson. It’s standard detainee care protocol.” He stopped short of the partly-open door, as he had a suspicion he knew exactly what (and who) Sitwell was talking about. 

“I am fully aware of that, sir. However, this detainee is in no way, shape or form ‘standard’,” Coulson responded dryly. “Despite her apparent age, she’s behaved like a seasoned agent from the moment we first brought her in. They still can’t figure out how she escaped the first time.” 

“Well, I’ll be damned if I let that girl commit slow suicide on my watch. If and when she refuses her next meal, we’re tube feeding her. End of story.” Sitwell stormed out of the conference room and glared at Clint as he walked by. 

“Agent Barton, is that you?” Coulson casually called out. Damn, could the guy see around corners now? He sauntered in; trying hard not to look as if he’d been eavesdropping. 

“Yes, sir?” he responded. 

“I have a favor to ask.” 

Clint walked into the interrogation room; she was already there, seated facing the one-way mirror, with one wrist shackled to the table. “Yeah, it’s me again,” he commented, setting down what he’d been holding to turn the chair around so he could straddle it. Sure, it was a common intimidation technique used by countless officers and agents, but dammit, it really was more comfortable. “My superiors are tired of the silent treatment and the hunger strike, so they sent me in to entertain you while they plan what to try next.” 

The physical toll of her refusal to eat or drink anything since her re-capture nearly two days before was obvious; yet her expression remained impassive and slightly bored. Clint gestured to the bottles of water and breakfast bars on the table. “Fresh from the vending machine down the hall. You’re welcome to it all - or you can choose what you want me to try first.” 

There was a slight flicker of interest in her eyes as she picked each item up, inspecting the package carefully for any sign of tampering, such a small tear or a puncture. He’d already looked them over thoroughly himself to make sure the machine hadn’t mangled them. She set them back down, then touched each item while closely watching him, to see if his body language would give him away. He’d been telling the truth. He really had bought them just a few minutes ago -- with his own money, to boot. 

She finally pushed one of each of the items over to him. He shook the bottle, commenting, “Just in case the iocaine powder sank to the bottom.” That almost got a roll of her eyes, and he counted it a success. He took two large drinks, then set the bottle aside. He opened the bar and bit into one end. He slowly chewed and visibly swallowed. They sat there a moment, waiting to see if there were any side effects. 

“Hey boss? Ask me something embarrassing,” Clint called out. 

There was a click, and over the speaker in the ceiling, came the reply. “All right. What color is your underwear?” 

“I’m not wearing any,” he replied with a grin, then stood to flash a bit of the waistband of his skivvies. “See? No truth serum either.” That comment got a full eye-roll and for a moment she looked just like any other teenage girl. “So, do you trust me now?” As he sat back down, she opened the water bottle and took a small, measured sip. He admired her self-control; during his last training exercise, when he’d gone a day without drinking, he’d guzzled an entire quart of water upon returning to base and promptly threw it back up. He’d been warned, but couldn’t help himself. 

She slowly finished the bottle, and then he passed over his half-full bottle to her as well. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it would have to do for now. She ate her breakfast bar, and the remainder of his, alternating with small sips from the remaining water. As she ate, he started talking. He figured it really didn’t matter what he said - he knew she wasn’t going to answer any questions, but he hated silent rooms. 

Clint had gone over to Steve and Tony’s the other night and found they were watching the Disney version of _The Little Mermaid_ , so he started telling her about the movie and how amazing the music was. “And the sea witch? She’s got this great song about how she can turn Ariel into a human, but she wants her voice in return. Ariel actually goes along with it, and next thing you know, she’s on the beach, wrapped in a convenient bit of sail and taking her first steps--” 

“Knives.” 

“Uh, what?” Clint stuttered in confusion. He hadn’t actually expected her to say anything, much less such a non-sequitur. But he was pretty sure he hadn’t misheard; her voice was soft, but the word had been quite clear. 

“Knives. In the original story, the sea witch said every step would feel as if she were treading on the sharpest of knives,” she quietly said, stating the rather gruesome fact with an odd intensity, despite her expression remaining matter-of-fact. 

“Yeah - that didn’t make it into the Disney version,” Clint replied casually, wondering why this, of all conversations, had gotten her to reply. But he could roll with it. “Come to think of it, a lot of fairy tales are kind of dark. Didn’t Cinderella’s sisters originally cut off parts of their feet in order to wear the glass slipper?” She nodded. Not words, but still more interaction than she’d given Coulson or Sitwell over the past two days. 

“Oh, how about The Little Match Girl? - I defy anyone to get through that story without getting all...” he scrunched up his face and sniffled a few times, pretending to be holding back tears. By god, she actually smiled a little at that. “And there’s that one... with the ballerina doll and the tin soldier...” Her face suddenly went blank again, save for a flash of anguish in her eyes. 

“Yes, I know that story well.” Her voice trembled just the slightest bit at the edges, but to outward appearances, she’d shut down completely; her hands laid flat on the table as she gazed into the middle distance. Clint didn’t have the slightest idea why she’d reacted so strongly to his mention of that particular Hans Christian Andersen story. And it didn’t look as if he were going to find out any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed a little glimpse at some supporting character interactions. Clint and 'Nadia' will probably be back for another interlude at some point. :^) 
> 
> And if you're not familiar with the tale of _The Steadfast Tin Soldier_ \- go [give it a read](http://www.andersen.sdu.dk/vaerk/hersholt/TheSteadfastTinSoldier_e.html%20) and see if you get major BuckyNat feels too...


	6. Steve and Tony - Interlude 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Mature   
> Steve and Tony get a little frisky in the shower at their DC hotel.

“After you, Alphonse,” Tony said, making a sweeping gesture towards the shower stall. They’d watched a couple of the Goofy Gophers cartoons as part of the promised Looney Toons film festival before leaving for DC. Tony had been delighted to learn the Alphonse/Gaston exchange was an old vaudeville bit that Steve recognized right away. 

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly. After you, Gaston,” Steve replied, bowing low. 

“But I insist, Alphonse,” Tony responded, with an even lower bow and arm flourish. “Besides, I claim first rights at ogling.” He wiggled his eyebrows and licked his lips. 

“Very well,” Steve huffed, “as long as you promise to get in here with me pretty damn quick.” He got in and stood under the ceiling-mounted shower head. Tony was immensely thankful that the hotel’s interior designer had opted for clear glass shower walls; he leaned back against the sink and admired the view. Statues of Greek gods didn’t have anything on what he beheld in front of him. But all that that was just a bonus; Tony was certain he would have fallen for scrawny Steve just as quickly and deeply. 

“Hey, loverboy, remember that the first take out meal we had, and the wrestling bout afterward?” he asked, a devilish smirk crossing his face. He’d just had the best idea ever. 

“Yeah,” Steve replied, “When I felt your pulse race, I thought maybe I’d hurt or scared you.” 

“‘Fear’ was not the four letter F-word going through my head, sweet cheeks.” Tony replied with a chuckle. “You had me so hot and bothered I had to go rub one out in the shower.” He was delighted to see the blush that spread over Steve’s skin. “Care for a rematch? I bet you could pin me against the shower wall and have your wicked way with me in no time.” 

Steve pushed the shower door open. “Get that gorgeous body of yours in here right now,” he demanded, and Tony felt a spike of desire run up his spine. Taking Steve’s hand, he stepped into the stall. The warm water felt wonderful, and the clean scent of the soap and shampoo cut through the odor of stale sweat and smoke that still lingered on his body.

“Scrub up, sweetheart, and I’ll wash your hair to save time,” Steve murmured in his ear. It seemed Steve’s touch could make any part of his body an erogenous zone; the gentle rasp of fingernails against his scalp drew purrs of pleasure from Tony. He did as he was told, making sure he was squeaky clean. Tony resisted the urge to let his own hands linger anywhere too interesting; he’d much rather feel Steve’s touch.

As soon as he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair, Tony leaned seductively against the wall of the shower. “Ready whenever you are, soldier.” Steve grabbed his wrists, sliding them up against the tiles above his partner’s head, crowding in close and sending both their heart rates climbing. 

“Gee, sweetheart, if we can’t use our hands, how are we gonna have a good time?” Steve said, much too innocently. Tony responded by sliding his knee between Steve’s thighs and grinding just a bit. Unfortunately, the height differential between them meant for a bit of misalignment. “I see where you’re going with this, doll,” Steve purred. “Mind if I help?” 

“Please.” Steve took both of Tony’s wrists in one hand, then reached around Tony’s waist to grab his ass and lift him up just enough. “Oh, fuck,” Tony groaned.

“Let’s save that for another day, sugar.” Steve teased. “I’m doin’ just fine with this.” A sudden impulse of one-upmanship led Tony to wrap one leg around Steve’s hip, bringing them even more closely in contact. It was Steve’s turn to bite out a curse, and Tony grinned in glee. 

He honestly didn’t know what felt better, rutting against Steve or having his lover’s hot, hard length rubbing up against him in turn. It didn’t matter as the wave of pleasure inside Tony was building to a peak. 

“I’m close, baby... kiss me hard and deep.” Tony begged. 

“I wanna hear you come, darlin’,” Steve replied, eyes dark with lust. That was enough to push Tony over the edge, back arching with staccato moans pushing from his lips. Steve let go of his wrists, and Tony clung to his lover, burying his face in Steve’s neck and shoulder. But he kept moving, whispering words of praise and desire in Steve’s ear until he followed, with sharp panting and barely controlled spasms. There would probably be bruises on his hips from where Steve was gripping him tightly, but it was worth it. 

They slowly disentangled themselves, each taking a turn under the showerhead for a final, quick rinse off. 

“Damn shame our shower at home isn’t this big,” Steve complained. 

“All the more reason to enjoy a weekend away every once in awhile, hot stuff.”


	7. Steve & Tony - Interlude 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by watching an erotic video, Tony takes their physical relationship to the next level.  
> (first time oral sex)

Tony pressed the pause button after the first scene of the gay porn video that Steve had brought home (and surprised the hell out of Tony by doing so). “Well .... what do you think, loverboy?” 

“I think it's... inspirational,” Steve replied. The couple on screen had been surprisingly demonstrative and tender with each other throughout the scene, and Tony had to admit that both the foreplay and sex itself had been damned hot. He’d taken a few mental notes along the way, and had actually learned a few things that the sad excuse for sex ed class he’d taken in school as well as the hetero porn he’d seen seemed to have skipped over. 

“No argument here. Saw a couple of things I kind of want to try, myself,” Tony replied, leaning over to steal a kiss. As he expected, Steve enthusiastically responded; so after a few moments of heated, open mouthed kisses, Tony moved to a more comfortable position, straddling Steve with his knees on either side of his lover’s hips. For once, he had the height advantage, Steve having to tilt his face up toward Tony’s, when he wasn’t mouthing at Tony’s neck and collarbone, that is. Steve didn’t waste much time getting Tony partially undressed, impatiently pulling at his shirt to get it up and over his head. Tony struggled a bit more with Steve’s, as not only was the back of the sofa in the way, he insisted on wearing t-shirts about two sizes too small. Not that Tony normally complained, no, not at all.

The thin knit material they were both wearing did very little to disguise just how aroused they both were. And while Tony wasn’t quite ready for the act his current position implied, he did have something else in mind. Steve pouted slightly when Tony moved away, only to stare in wonder when Tony dropped to his knees, and reached for the single button holding Steve’s fly closed. “Care for a blowjob, soldier?” 

“Yes... god... please... yes,” Steve stammered, spreading his legs and tossing a pillow down to the floor so Tony could get comfortable. As Tony pulled Steve's dick free, he took a breath to steady himself. He was a little intimidated; it was one thing to wrap his hand around his lover’s cock, but lips and tongue were something different. Nevertheless, a Stark kept his promises. 

Tony started with a few tentative licks, holding the base to steady it. Steve’s breathy gasps were music to Tony’s ears, apparently he was at least getting this part right. Keeping in mind both his experience in receiving blowjobs and what they’d just watched, Tony wet his lips and placed them gently around the head. Steve’s loud moan almost muffled a cracking sound; he said sheepishly, “I think I broke the back of the sofa, sweetheart.” 

Tony chuckled slightly, then slid a little further down, engulfing the head of Steve’s cock as he traced a circle around the tip with his tongue. He marveled at the velvety softness of the skin, the little involuntary twitches. Tony was actually enjoying this; maybe not quite in a sexual way, but definitely in a sensual one. And of course, the pleasure he was giving his beloved was a reward in and of itself; each and every moan going straight to his own cock. 

Tony started a slow slide up and down, taking a little more of Steve’s dick in his mouth every time. He still had his hand wrapped around the base, and moved it in sync. Definitely need to get some actual lube if this is going to be a thing, he thought; don’t want any chafing, and lotion leaves a nasty taste behind Tony could feel the tip of Steve’s cock nudging against his soft palate and changed the angle slightly, dropping his jaw; he wouldn’t be able to take much more right now, not without practice.

“Tony, ‘m getting close,” Steve gasped, and Tony hummed an acknowledgement. Knowing what it felt like to be surrounded by hot, tight wetness at the moment of climax; he wasn’t going to deny that to Steve. He could do this. He pressed his tongue firmly against the sensitive underside of Steve’s cock and slid down as far as he could, tightening his grip at the same time. 

The deep, almost primal groan Steve let out as he tipped over the edge sent electricity up and down Tony’s spine. He quickly swallowed; spitting seemed not only gross, but rude. And while not anything he’d recommend as, say, a Baskin-Robbins ice cream flavor, the taste wasn’t that bad. He didn’t let go until the aftershocks had passed, unable to resist a single flick of the tongue to catch the last few drops. 

Tony looked up to see Steve sprawled against the back of the sofa, chest heaving and covered with sweat. Steve slowly raised his head, giving Tony that wonderful sunrise smile. “That was amazing, Tony.” He reached out a hand out to pull Tony back up and into his lap. “Give me a few moments to catch my breath and I’ll do my best to return the favor, sugar,” he murmured into Tony’s ear.


	8. Steve and Tony - Interlude 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a romantic weekend, Tony and Steve finally make it to home base with a bit of a surprise along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd - so any flaws and/or awkwardness are all mine.
> 
> Warnings - Mature/Explicit (anal fingering, anal sex)

Tony didn’t eat very much that evening. Not only did Steve seem intent on devouring every last calorie he could get his hands on --- very nearly accidentally stabbing Tony’s hand with his fork more than once when they both went for the same tidbit -- but Tony was nervous. In a good way, that is, kind of like waiting in queue for a roller coaster you’ve never been on. He hadn’t been kidding when he told Steve he was planning on a long night. 

Once Steve was chasing the last few grains of rice and puddles of sauce around, Tony stood and stretched languorously. “I’m going to take a shower and wash the travel stink off. Give me a few minutes and you’re welcome to join me, hot stuff.” 

“I’ll get these dishes taken care of and be right in, darlin’,” Steve responded with a gleam in his eye. 

Tony set out some supplies on the nightstand before getting in the guest suite’s shower. He wasn’t sure how much prep time he’d need. Previous self-experimentation had yielded mixed results; it felt weird and a little uncomfortable, but good, too. Probably better as part of foreplay, just like a handjob versus jacking off. So he hadn’t gotten too far when Steve knocked on the door, asking, “Are ya decent?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Just what I was hoping to hear.” Steve wasted no time stripping down and joining him in the shower. “Hey, your hair’s not even wet!” 

“I was hoping you’d wash it again for me - I liked having you play with my hair.” 

“That’s not all I plan on playing with, doll,” Steve replied, sliding his hands up and down Tony’s sides. “Let’s get you all squeaky clean.” From those comments, Tony expected more than a quick scrubdown, but Steve seemed eager to move things along, with barely a grope or fondle along the way. 

“So, what’s next on the dance card, sweetheart?” Steve asked as they toweled off. 

“Take me to bed or lose me forever,” Tony teased. They’d just watched _Top Gun_ earlier that week (oh, that beach volleyball scene!), so he knew Steve would get the reference. 

“Show me the way home, baby,” Steve replied, completing the quote. He picked Tony up, barely giving him time to curl his legs around Steve’s hips before they tumbled on the bed, kissing each other senseless. Tony reveled in their skin on skin contact, while Steve seemed intent on leaving a shield-sized love bite on Tony’s neck and shoulder. 

“God, I want you, Tony,” Steve growled, practically rutting against Tony’s thigh. 

“Want you too,” Tony replied, his heart racing just a little more. He was finally ready for this.

“Want to make love with you, darling,” Steve murmured in his ear. “Want to feel you inside me.” 

“Wait, what?” Tony asked in confusion. “I thought you would be the one, you know... to top.” 

“Figured you had a bit more experience in that role, sugar. Least for our first time together.” Steve rolled them so Tony was above him, then spread his legs. “I trust you, Tony. Make me yours.” 

“As you wish, sunshine.” 

 

Perhaps he’d gone a bit overboard on the lube, Tony thought. Someone was definitely going to be sleeping in the wet spot. But he’d wanted to err on the side of caution; and after a tense moment or two, Steve had responded beautifully, with moans of encouragement as Tony touched him, sliding one finger, then two inside, readying him for their lovemaking.

And once Steve said he was ready, Tony knelt between his legs, and pressed into Steve, feeling him yield so sweetly. Despite his own raging desire, Tony was taking it slowly. But then Steve wrapped his legs around Tony, and with a heel in his back, pulled him into an abrupt embrace. 

“Fuck!” Tony exclaimed, both in surprise and pleasure, buried deep in his lover. 

“That’s the idea, champ. Now move,” Steve replied, with more than a touch of command in his voice. The phrase 'power bottom' suddenly made a lot more sense to Tony. 

“Yes, sir, Captain, sir.” Tony replied. He was still determined to take his time; thankful he’d stopped to put a condom on, as otherwise he’d have come embarrassingly quickly. It all felt so good, so right. Steve’s hands roaming his body, while Tony licked and nibbled on every square inch of skin he could reach. 

Kissing was a bit awkward; that damned height difference again. But it was worth the crick in his neck to see Steve’s eyes blown wide with lust, and feel his gasps of pleasure ghosting across his own lips. Steve seemed as lost in pleasure as Tony himself felt; his cock, hot and heavy, throbbing as it was pressed between them. Tony had tried to reach in, to wrap his hand around it, but Steve had impatiently pushed his hand away, “” ‘M good, sugar. Don’t stop what you’re doin’.”

The steady rhythm they’d found, echoing the sound of the waves from the not so distant shore, faltered a moment as Steve gasped loudly. “Oh god, do that again!” he begged. Tony did his best to replicate the angle of thrust, and was rewarded with Steve clutching him hard enough to leave bruises. “Yes, please, yes,” Steve practically sobbed, arching his hips a moment later as he went over the edge. Tony couldn’t hold out any longer as Steve, already deliciously tight, spasmed around him. One final deep thrust and he was gone, the intensity of the orgasm causing sparks behind his eyes, his own personal shooting stars. 

Tony collapsed on Steve’s chest, still heaving after their exertion. He listened to that great heart beat as he caught his breath, then looked up to see his beloved’s beautiful sunrise smile. 

“So, come here often, handsome?” 

“Only once so far, but it was a doozy. Let’s get cleaned up before we nod off.”


	9. Clint POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Sitwell attempts to intimidate their detainee, Clint tries to convince her to cooperate. Tempers flare, but he gets a few more shreds of information as they share a meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in late October, right around the time of Tony and Pepper's SAMFR presentation at the Pentagon (Chapter 36)

Agent Barton watched the tape again, watching carefully as Senior Agent Sitwell progressively got more frustrated by the detainee’s refusal to cooperate. On the surface, he’d done the same thing Clint had every few days for the past several weeks -- offered her food and drink in sealed packages and let her choose. 

Clint had convinced her to expand her repertoire to the occasional MRE and meal replacement shake, while Sitwell had gone back to the basics: bottled water and snack bars. But the senior agent was going about it all wrong; his body language clearly telegraphing which one he wanted her to pick. 

Clint couldn’t quite figure out why, though. Had Sitwell dosed one of the bars with something to make her more cooperative? Not that he’d had actually seen him tampering with it; but he wouldn’t be the least surprised, as that seemed to be the way the senior agent did things. Sitwell eventually lost his temper, and threatened her with force-feeding as he threw one of the bottles of water against the wall, where it bounced off harmlessly.

But it was the last words Sitwell said to her that Clint really was interested in -- the man had gotten right in her face and muttered something almost too low for the room’s microphones to hear. Clint turned the gain up and zoomed the camera footage in - hoping that his lipreading skills might help. 

After replaying that bit of tape over and over -- he thought it had it, all but that one word. It seemed Sitwell had said “You are ours now, [unintelligible], and after this last mission, he will be ours as well.” Her eyes burned fiercely at whatever he’d said, but she didn’t make any reply. 

“You realize she’s leaving us no other choice, Barton,” Coulson said, coming up behind him. “Tube feeding may be the only option to keep her alive.” There was more than a touch of concern in his voice, and Clint once again thanked his lucky stars he’d been assigned to Coulson instead of Sitwell. Something about the senior agent had never quite sat right with him; Clint had learned over the years to trust his gut when it came to evaluating others, and Coulson was good people. 

“Can I please talk to her first, sir?” Clint asked. “Maybe I can convince her to start playing ball with us.” 

“Well, you have been the only one she’s really cooperated with. Just remember, the clock is ticking.” 

 

After over a month of detention, their unwilling guest was pale and drawn, clearly malnourished. At least she’d started drinking enough water to stave off dehydration, albeit from the sink in her cell after running it for several minutes. She still didn’t trust any beverage delivered with her untouched meals. But her manner was just as aloof as it had been since the beginning, her gaze calculating and detached, even if her eyes now seemed much too big for her gaunt face. 

“Listen, kiddo,” Clint remarked as soon as he sat down. “You heard what the boss said. If you don’t start eating regularly, they’re going to strap you down and start shoving nutritional goo up your nose and down your gullet. I don’t want to see you go through that.” 

She responded coolly, “You don’t have to watch.” She’d gradually become more talkative, but Clint could never tell whether she’d actually hold a conversation during any given meeting or respond only with single words and disdainful expressions. 

“Yes, I do.” 

“Why? Because I am your prisoner?” She practically spat out the last word. 

“No -- you’re my responsibility. I want to make sure you’re treated fairly.”

She scoffed. “You still believe in fairness? How naive. ‘Life is not fair’ - is that not an old American saying?

“Oh, I know life isn’t fair.” Clint rolled up his shirt sleeves to show her the cigarette burn marks on his arm. “If it were, my dad would have done jail time for this, instead of killing himself and my mom by driving drunk one too many times.” 

“If life were fair,” he took out his hearing aids and set them on the table, “that little kid on the roadside in Bagram wouldn’t have have had an IED strapped to him and I wouldn’t be wearing these. And lastly,” he said, looking her dead in the eyes, “if life were fair, you’d probably be attending college classes somewhere in Moscow or Kiev and having fun with your friends instead of being cooped up here and starving yourself to death.” She flinched just the slightest bit at that last statement. 

“But just because life isn’t fair, devotchka, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to be,” Clint finished, scooping up his aids before stalking out of the room, out of the building and across the street. He came back about fifteen minutes later, carrying a McDonald’s bag. Coulson raised his eyebrows, but let him back into the interrogation room. 

Clint set out a large Coke, 3 cheeseburgers and a large order of fries on the table. “We’ll share the drink - I brought two straws,” he stated, pulling out a pocketknife and handing it to her. “Cut the burgers into halves or quarters or whatever. Divvy them up evenly. Same with the fries - sorry I forgot ketchup.” 

She stared at him skeptically, while Coulson’s bemused voice came over the speakers. “Did you really just give the detainee a deadly weapon, Agent?” .

“It’s got a two and a half inch blade, she can’t do too much damage with it,” Clint replied, realizing he hadn’t really thought everything through. 

“I could cut your throat,” she commented, tapping the still-closed knife idly on the table. 

“Are you planning to?” Clint replied with the same casual note. He met her gaze and lifted an eyebrow. 

“Not today.” She flipped the blade out, unwrapped the burgers and cut them into wedges, shuffling the pieces around as if she were playing three card monte for a $100 bill. She pushed a wrapper full of burger over to him, keeping significantly less than half the pieces for herself. After wiping the blade off, she refolded it and set it on the table in plain sight of the observation window. 

In the meanwhile, he’d taken the lid off the Coke, put both straws in and taken a sip, then ate a few fries. Yeah, it was partly to reassure her, but mostly because he was hungry. As soon as she was done with her portioning, he dug in. Once again, she was deliberate with her dining, taking small sips and bites. However, she turned up her nose at the french fries after trying one, saying. “These potatoes would have been better used for vodka.” 

“You have a good point... Mickey D fries aren’t so great once they get cold. Fortunately I have an indiscriminate palate.” Clint grabbed a big handful of fries as he pushed three more burger wedges over to her, adding, “I’ll trade you for the fries, Natasha Fatale.” 

There was a brief flash of alarm in her eyes, even as she tilted her head and, with a manufactured lilt to her voice, inquired, “Why do you call me Natasha? Is it a joke?”

“Oh man, you’ve never seen Rocky and Bullwinkle?” Clint exclaimed, then called up to the ceiling. “Sir - can I bring a tape in to show her tomorrow? I think she’d get a kick out of it.” 

Clint caught the end of a sigh as his supervisor turned the comm on. “I suppose you both have earned a little reward. I’ll make arrangements.” 

As they ate, Clint asked, “So, what did the big boss call you the last time you saw him, after that little temper tantrum of his?” He knew this question was a gamble -- not only was it likely to piss Sitwell off if he reviewed the tape, but it was a reminder that she was always being watched. There was just a hint of a flush high on her cheeks as she replied, “‘Pauk’. It means spider - a small, detestable creature. A common insult in my language.” 

“I’ve always been impressed by spiders, myself,” Clint replied. “Resourceful and creative, as well as beautiful in their own way.” He filed away the reference for future reflection. It seemed an odd choice of word, especially when added to the vague threat Sitwell had employed about ‘owning’ her and some other person. 

Once they were finished, Clint pulled a roll of Tums out of his pocket. “Here. Just in case.” As he balled up the wrappers and stuffed them back in the bag, he added, “ I don’t suppose your current chattiness would extend to telling us anything about what you were up to with Stark, would it?” 

She shut right back down, staring into the middle distance as her posture returned to the nonchalant, slightly bored pose she’d kept up through so many interrogation sessions. So they were done here. 

Clint stood up, saying, “Figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask, seeing as it’s my job and all. Catch ya later, Red,” he added as he went through the door. Her eyes caught his as he glanced back at the girl sitting there; a moment of vulnerability shining through. 

Clint waited until the door was closed to let the anger flare through him, slamming his fist into the wall and muttering curses in multiple languages. She was too stubborn to live... literally. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t talk -- he got that. He even got the whole ‘willing to die for what you believed in’ ideology. He’d meant every word of the oaths he’d taken, after all. 

But Coulson had told him that as far as they could tell, no one was looking for her. There was no chatter on any of the usual channels about an agent gone missing or an operative who had missed their check-in. It seemed that that despite her training and her dedication, she was an expendable asset; a tool that once it had served its purpose, could be discarded. The people for whom she was laying down her life didn’t deserve her, Clint thought fiercely. 

He went next door for the debrief and watched the guards take her back to her cell. 

“Was it just me, Barton,” Coulson asked, “or did you calling her ‘Natasha’ get a bit of a rise from her?” 

“I noticed that too, sir. The ‘spider’ bit seemed odd too. Think they’re worth looking into?” 

“Might as well - you’ve seen how thin her folder is. Almost as skinny as the girl herself. Does she really still think we’d try to poison her, or is she simply wasting away on purpose?” Unlike Sitwell, for whom the girl’s possible suicide seemed either an inconvenience or a personal affront, Coulson seemed genuinely concerned for her. 

“I wish I knew, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed a larger look at the events of the fic. I've got at least one more Clint POV chapter in the works, and then a post-main fic piece that features 'Nadia' as well.


	10. Clint POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint sticks his neck out on 'Nadia's' behalf; thankfully it's Coulson holding the knife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set almost a month after the last Clint POV - so mid-November and just before Chapter 40 of the main fic.

It took Clint the better part of three weeks to put his plan together, then another two days to convince himself that the risk was worth it. But she wasn’t doing any better, despite his attempts to broaden her culinary horizons courtesy of the local take out joints. So far they’d shared nachos deluxe, chicken fried rice and some amazing pulled pork sandwiches. But some days she refused without a word; he suspected visits from Sitwell as a trigger. 

The girl seemed honestly surprised when he opened the door to her cell. “I’ve only got a minute before the alarm starts squawking,” he said, speaking quickly. “There’s no one watching or listening right now, it’s just me. I’ve never lied to you before, have I?” 

“No. You have not.” She watched him intently, the slightest hint of curiosity in her tone.

“Then I need to tell you that your people have cut you loose. Whatever role you think you’re playing -- they don’t care anymore. You’re on your own.”

“That ... was to be expected,” she replied, not meeting his eyes. So she’d put two and two together on her own. 

“I want to know if you’re ready for something different. If you’re willing to join us, here at SHIELD.” 

“You are asking me to betray my people, my homeland and everything I believe in.” Her intense gaze bore into him; but he stood his ground. 

“Your people don’t give a good goddamn about you, your homeland is falling to pieces and you’re too fucking smart to believe everything you’ve been told.” he retorted hotly. His watch alarm went off. “Shit. I gotta go. Just... think about it a little, wouldja?” 

She nodded gravely as he let himself out; he waited to hear the click of the lock resetting after he’d picked it. He managed to make his way back to the bullpen without incident; he slid into his chair and picked up a folder at random, slowly letting out the breath he felt he’d been holding since he flipped the breaker for the alarm system. It had been a reckless, foolish thing to do... but it had also been the right thing. 

“Two minutes and three seconds.” Clint startled a little to see Coulson standing right in front of his desk, arms crossed. He had been poring through another batch of visa applications, now that they had another alias to work with for their stray lamb, and hadn’t even heard his supervisor approach. Your situational awareness is for shit now that you’re back home, he thought to himself. 

“Sir?” 

“Two minutes and three seconds. That was the winning time for this year’s Kentucky Derby,” Coulson stated. “And, coincidentally, just about the amount of time it takes the alarm system for this building to reboot after it loses power.”

Clint’s palms started sweating, but he kept his voice steady as he replied, “That’s an interesting bit of coincidence, sir.” 

“Even more interesting a coincidence is the fact that a certain security camera and audio recording system was paused at approximately the same time that the alarm system rebooted this afternoon and for the same duration,” Coulson commented in a conversational tone. “But you don’t know anything about that, now, would you, Barton?” 

“You wouldn’t ask that question if you didn’t already know the answer, sir.” Clint responded before he could think better of it. 

“What I don’t know is what happened during those two minutes. Care to enlighten me?” 

Clint suddenly recalled Stane’s deposition regarding Ms. Roman, and how he all but stated outright that he’d had sex with the girl, and found himself blushing dully. “I’m not ... compromised, if that’s what you’re thinking.” 

“I wasn’t,” Coulson replied, with the slightest hint of a smile. “But even if I were, don’t you think that time allotment is a bit... scanty?” Clint stifled an inappropriate snort of laughter as Coulson continued, “How about you tell me what you did do in those two minutes, Agent Barton?” 

Clint took a deep breath -- might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. “I told our guest that no one was looking for her, that they had left her twisting in the wind. And I asked her to consider switching sides and joining us.” 

“And what was her response?” Coulson asked, cocking an eyebrow. with an air of disbelief. 

“Well, she didn’t say no.” 

That response got a slow shake of the head from his superior as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re really sticking your neck out for this girl, Barton. Why?” 

“I got a second chance. She deserves one too.” Clint met Coulson’s gaze. Surely it hadn’t been so long ago that he himself had been in the same situation, trying to convince his bosses that a three-quarters deaf high school dropout with sand still in his boots from Desert Shield was worth recruiting. 

“That remains to be seen,” Coulson responded flatly. “ However, as Senior Agent Sitwell has been sent overseas on an assignment through the end of the year, I’ve taken over some of his responsibilities.” He took a key out of his pocket and handed it to Clint. “You’ve got five weeks. Use them well.”


	11. Nadia POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After months in detention, Nadia finally meets the person perhaps best qualified to understand her and where she came from. Set just after the finale of the main story.

They brought her in and sat her down just like always. She looked around as if she didn’t already have the room’s dimensions memorized, each possible escape route evaluated, every scratch and scuff on the table committed to memory. They shackled both wrists; so she was meeting someone new, someone they wanted to impress. 

After they left her alone, a woman entered the room. Her firm quick footsteps belied her apparent age, as did her alert, watchful expression. As the woman sat down across the table from her, she took in the red lipstick, the almond shaped brown eyes, the slight scar high on one cheekbone. _Bojemoi_ , it was Madame Margaret Carter. 

“Good afternoon, Miss Roman,” Carter said, brisk and businesslike. Despite living in the States for nearly fifty years, the co-founder of SHIELD had retained her almost musical British accent. “I’m quite aware that that is not your real name, but I do need to call you something. Unless there's another moniker you'd prefer to go by?” She said nothing in reply.

“I’ve been told you are a reticent sort,” Carter continued, “Nevertheless, I believe you have some information we need.” She opened a folder she'd carried in with her, pulled out a photo and placed it on the table. Slightly grainy, the black and white image showed a man holding some sort of case. It was him. Proof that she had failed her mission as they’d resorted to unleashing the Soldier to complete the task. And if he had been assigned, it had become been a kill order. But how many were dead now -- just Stark, or had his wife and his son been eliminated as well? 

She struggled to maintain her composure, but Carter was much too observant. “So you recognize him,” she said slowly, deliberately. “I suspect you also know what he’s holding and what he did to get it.” The anger in Carter’s voice was barely controlled. Stark had been a comrade of hers; it was no surprise that the woman was upset. 

She was taken aback to feel emotions welling up in response to Carter’s distress: a pang of regret, of sorrow. Tony Stark had trusted her, treated her respectfully and been nice to her when he didn’t have to be. If she had succeeded with her assignment, perhaps the bloodshed could have been avoided as her superiors would have had what they wanted. 

But having failed, she had been abandoned. No, not abandoned -- reassigned. The man who claimed to be her new handler had provided the proper signs and countersigns and knew her code name. She didn’t like him, didn’t trust him, but that was no different from before. He’d apparently been called away some time ago, as his clandestine visits to her cell had ceased. 

She flinched, pulled from her reverie when Carter took her hand. She expected some sort of punishment or retribution, but instead the older woman pushed up her sleeve and the shackle, and traced over the faint marks on her wrist. “I know what made these,” Carter said, her voice once again steady, almost kind. “I imagine you still sleep with your arm above your head.” Carter sat back, not letting go of her hand while fixing her with an appraising look. 

“Do they still show you Disney movies to improve your English?” Carter asked. “Perhaps _Cinderella_ and _Sleeping Beauty_ , to go along with _Snow White_? Fairy tales of damsels in distress, princesses and princes, talking animals. I suppose you think we’re fools to believe in all that, in happy endings. I know the Russian psyche, the conviction that pain and suffering are our lot in life. But I can assure you that it doesn’t have to be that way.” 

Carter leaned forward again, placing both hands on hers. “You needn’t keep walking on knives, my dear. There’s no reason for you to remain frozen _en pointe_ , fearing that the next strong breeze will blow you into the flames to be lost forever.” It seemed Carter had reviewed the records of her previous interrogations. “I know Agent Barton has talked to you, has extended a hand of friendship. If you tell us what you know about the Soldier and what he was sent to do, then we will help you.” The older woman’s sincerity was nearly overwhelming.

She was so very tired of resisting, of being strong and standing alone. Perhaps it was time to yield, to surrender to her fate. To trust someone beyond herself. 

“I want to talk to him, to Clint.” The words spilled from her mouth before she realized it. The two of them had finally traded names during his most recent visit; he had seemed pained that she didn’t remember her birth surname. 

Carter nodded, responding, “Very well. I’ll have him paged.” 

"Thank you," Natasha murmured. She lay her head down on her arm (bent somewhat awkwardly due to the shackles) and closed her eyes. If this were all a trick, she didn’t want to see the end coming. 

“Rest now, child,” came the soft reply. And perhaps it was only her imagination, but the hand gently stroking her hair was a comfort, nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally get Natasha's POV on the events! This was fun to put together, to figure out how Peggy would try to get through to her. I can't help but think she sees some of herself in the young woman in front of her.
> 
> If you haven't seen the _Agent Carter_ TV show, what Peggy was referring to regarding the marks on Natasha's wrists as well as being shown Disney movies are basically references to an early version of the Red Room.


	12. Pepper POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper and Jim attend the Starks' funeral, which becomes more newsworthy than either of them had anticipated. They slip away from the fallout to have a discussion about what just happened, as well as what might be happening between them.
> 
> General rating

“Ms. Potts.” 

“Lieutenant Rhodes.” 

Jim stepped a bit closer and asked in a low voice, “How’s our boy holding up?” 

“About as well as could be expected.” 

The room was large enough for them to have a quiet conversation without disturbing the main proceedings. In fact, there were knots of people scattered about in groups of twos and threes, all maintaining a respectful distance from the raised platform at the front of the room. The platform where two large portraits of Howard and Maria Stark were on display in front of the plain black caskets. 

After the autopsy photos had been leaked and published, Tony had insisted that the funeral be both private and closed casket. Only Stark Industries employees, representatives of their business partners and other invited individuals would be attending, with security discreetly checking each person at the door for cameras or recording equipment. A good number of people had filtered through during the visitation, with less than half of them choosing to stay for the actual service. The cynical part of her wondered how many of them had attended just to say that they had been there at the Stark double funeral. 

Pepper couldn’t imagine what Tony must be going through. She would be devastated to lose either of her parents, much less both in a single day. But as she was on generally good terms with them, she wouldn’t be dealing with the loss of second chances as well as her loved ones. Since Tony’s relationship with his parents had been strained, but improving, it seemed even more of a tragedy. 

During the visitation, Tony had been standing off to one side of the platform with Obadiah Stane and Margaret Carter. They greeted each caller who presumably offered a few words of condolence. Another man stood with them, scanning the room and looking over each person as they approached. He was Harold Hogan, Tony’s brand new bodyguard. While neither as tall or broad as Steve (but then again, few were), he carried himself like a fighter and seemed equal to most physical threats; though, heaven forbid, that would become an issue. Pepper also recognized the Jarvises, to whom she’d been introduced at the holiday party, sitting in the front row. 

She’d only had a few moments to talk with Tony before the funeral began. While he was genuinely happy to have her there to support him, Tony also looked as if he’d barely slept since the accident. Pepper had jokingly offered to dab some concealer under his eyes, to try to make him smile. Seeing him responding to the well-wishers with the customary pleasantries, she recognized the signs of stress and exhaustion and realized who was missing from the tableau. Pepper scanned the room, looking for Steve. 

As if he read her mind, Jim said, “Over there,” and made a slight nod to the far corner. Steve was seated almost behind a grouping of potted palms, watching Tony’s every move with fierce intensity, as if he were pouring all his strength and stamina into his partner via his gaze. “Have you talked much with Tony in the last few weeks?” Jim asked. 

“A couple of phone calls, but that’s about it.” Steve was the one who told them about the accident, calling them from Montauk. Pepper had been waiting at their apartment when he and Tony returned and had been nonplussed to discover that Steve seemed almost more distressed than Tony. It felt as there were something more to the whole situation, but she couldn’t put her finger on it, and it seemed unconscionably rude to pry. So she simply offered a shoulder to cry on, both figuratively and literally, but she hadn't seen either of them since that night. Tony hadn’t been into the office all week either, which was totally understandable. 

“I’m a little worried about him,” Jim admitted. “The kid puts up a good front, even when he’s falling apart inside.” And even though she didn’t know Tony nearly as well as Jim did, she had to agree. “Would you be able to go for coffee or something after the service?” he asked. “I’d like to talk about Tony, and some other things.” 

Jim was smooth, she had to admit. Pepper had a fairly good idea what the ‘other things’ involved, but she was willing to hear him out. While they really hadn’t spent much time together, she found herself liking Jim quite a bit. And of course it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes. She almost wished that she felt that spark, whatever that something was that triggered a physical attraction. Because she did feel something for him, something she couldn't identify, that felt like more than friendship. But this was neither the time nor the place for those thoughts. 

A minister stepped to the podium and asked everyone to take their seats. Tony, Stane, and Carter took their chairs on the platform, while the bodyguard remained standing. The minister offered a few prayers and all-purpose words of solace, and then asked if anyone had a few words to say. 

Stane took the podium first. His elegy was obviously written by the Stark PR team, and somehow showcased his own accomplishments as part of the recounting of Howard Stark’s achievements. There were a few token sentences about Maria, with the conclusion of his speech being aimed towards SI’s associates as reassurance that business would continue as usual. Pepper wasn’t surprised that Stane would be so crass as to use what should be a time of remembrance as advertising for the company. 

Director Carter was next; her elegy was brief and focused on Howard Stark’s patriotism as well as Maria’s dedication to charitable work. Her words were clearly from the heart and Pepper found herself wiping away a few tears as Tony came to the podium. 

“My father often told me that ‘Stark men are made of iron’. And I suppose that’s true. After all, I’m sure many of you here have experienced Howard Stark’s magnetic personality.” There were a few welcome chuckles in response, and Tony continued the analogy -- speaking about how his father’s character had been forged in the fires of the Great Depression and World War II. That, with his steely determination, Howard had not only built a company from scratch, but also co-founded an organization dedicated to the protection of the United States of America, naming it SHIELD. 

“But it was my mother, Maria Carbonell, who polished the rough edges of Howard Stark, and truly made him shine.” Tony shared the story of his parents’ first meeting, which Pepper found unexpectedly charming. Tony then spoke of his mother’s hidden talents -- how she played piano beautifully, but only ever performed for family and close friends. “She was a woman who set high expectations both for others and for herself ... and was perhaps more forgiving of the rest of us when we fell short.” He concluded the elegy by saying “I am proud to be the son of both Howard and Maria Stark and I hope to honor their legacy to the best of my ability.” Tony put down his notecards and stepped away from the podium, but he wasn’t quite done. 

“I extend my gratitude to all of you for coming here today to pay respects to the memory of my parents. But before we go, I’d like to take a moment to thank a few individuals who have gone above and beyond to support me through this trying time.” He walked over to where the others were seated on the platform. “First of all, Obediah Stane, my father’s right hand man and a trusted mentor. Your knowledge of Stark Industries has been and, I hope, will continue to be of invaluable assistance as I attempt to fill my father’s shoes.” Stane stood, and they shook hands. Pepper saw Stane's eyes glance around the room, as if he expected camera flashes and applause. 

“Secondly, Director Margaret Carter, who I will always think of as 'Aunt Peggy'. I know you acted as my father’s moral compass many times over the years and you’ve helped me find my way as well. I can't thank you enough.” Tony leaned down to press a kiss against her cheek, as she patted him on the shoulder. 

Tony then gestured to the front row. “Edwin and Ana Jarvis - you and your daughter Miriam have been like a second family. Your generous hearts have made many difficult days easier.” He then scanned the audience, making eye contact with each person as he named them. “Rhodey, Pepper, Sam, Clint -- I can’t tell you how much your friendship, your care and your compassion means to me. I treasure you all.”

“But there’s one more person who I need to thank. Someone who, although I knew of him for quite some time, I hadn’t actually met until earlier this year. We hit it off right away and he and I have become quite close. He’s inspired me, challenged me and accepted me; a true companion who has been by my side almost constantly since my parents’ tragic accident.” Tony paused, and drew a deep breath. “In fact, I’d like to have him up here right now. Steve, would you join me, please?” 

Pepper knew Tony well enough to suspect what was coming, and gripped Jim’s hand. “Aw no,” he whispered, “he’s not gonna...” She shrugged and nodded at the same time, biting her lip in anticipation as she watched Steve stride down the aisle and up onto the platform. 

Tony took Steve’s hand and leaned in to whisper something. Steve responded with a quick nod and she thought she saw him wink at Tony just before they both turned to face the audience, still holding hands. 

“Ladies and gentlemen. This is Steve Rogers, my fiance.” The crowd, which had gotten a little restless during Tony’s thank-you speeches, was now dead silent. Stane’s look of shock was downright comical, while Director Carter had a enigmatic smile on her face as she caught both Steve and Tony’s eye and gave them a nod of approval. It seemed this was no surprise to her. 

With a broad, confident smile and a steady voice, Tony continued, “His name and face may seem familiar to some of you. Steve has his own remarkable story to tell, but we’ll leave that for another day.” As the crowd started to buzz in excitement, Tony returned to the podium to speak into the microphone. 

“Yes, the heir to Stark Industries is bisexual. Yes, I, Anthony Edward Stark, am in a committed relationship with another man. And deliriously happy to be so. We’ll be making an announcement to the press, probably the minute we get out of here. Thank you again for coming.” 

He and Steve proceeded down the aisle to the doors that led outside where a throng of reporters and cameramen were already in place. Those less than distinguished members of the press, having been denied access to the memorial service, would be eager to pounce on anyone leaving the building. They’d be getting one hell of a story. 

 

Pepper and Jim went out a side door to avoid the media circus and found a diner a block or two down. The waitress was quick with the coffee, and Pepper wrapped her hands around the mug to soak in its warmth. 

“I swear,” Jim said, shaking his head in disbelief, “if Tony sprung that all on Steve without discussing it first, I’ll wring his goddamned neck.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me at all if it were Steve’s idea. After all, he is the type to jump out of airplanes without a parachute.” 

Jim snorted. “Maybe I don’t need to be as worried about Tony as I thought. Promise to keep an eye on those two knuckleheads for me?” 

“I thought I was done with babysitting when I graduated high school,” Pepper replied with a laugh. “They’re quite a pair, aren’t they?” 

“Yeah,” Jim said, his voice going soft as he leaned forward on his elbows. “Kinda makes me jealous.” He looked at her for a long moment. 

Time to take the bull by the horns, she thought. “Listen, Jim, I do like you but --” 

“Alright, I get it,” he interrupted, “You’re not into me. I can deal.” Jim was already backing off, pushing himself back upright with his hands on the table. 

“That’s not true,” Pepper said, placing her hand on his. “I am into you, at least, maybe I could be. But it wouldn’t be the way you’d want it. So I don’t think we should start anything.” She knew she probably wasn’t making sense to him. She wasn’t even sure if she was making sense to herself. 

With perfect timing the waitress came back over to refill their mugs and see if they wanted anything else. She looked down at their joined hands. “Sorry - I’ll leave you two lovebirds be.” And with a motherly smile, she walked away. 

“Okay, let’s back things up a little." Jim slowly turned his hand over, letting hers rest in his palm. "Putting my cards on the table, here. I like you, Pepper. I really do. And with some time and encouragement, I think it could turn into more. How about we go on a date? Get some dinner, catch a movie, or maybe go out dancing. And then at the end of the night, I’d like to kiss you, and see where it goes from there.” 

“That’s the thing -- it doesn’t go from there,” she replied, hoping to head him off at the pass. 

He held her gaze for a moment, then looked away with a slow nod. “No sex before marriage. Fair enough.” He smiled as he met her eyes again. “But I’d still like that date.” 

“No, Jim. You don’t understand.” She pulled her hand away. “It’s not just ‘no sex before marriage’ it’s ‘no sex at all’, which kind of throws the whole marriage thing out of the window. When it comes to that degree of physical intimacy, I haven’t, I don’t and I won’t.” She crossed her arms tightly across her chest as she waited for his response. 

“Alright, then,” James folded his hands loosely in front of him. “So, what do you want?” 

“What do you mean?” That wasn’t one of the questions she normally got asked: ‘Are you serious?’ or ‘Why not?’ or ‘What’s wrong with you?’ were the usual suspects, and she knew who and what she was dealing with at that point. But Jim’s query took her by surprise, and she found herself letting her defenses down a little. 

“I told you what I wanted, Pepper -- a date. You made your boundaries clear. But you also said, and I quote, ‘I am into you, at least maybe I could be.’ So I’m asking -- what do you want?” 

This wasn’t the kind of persistence she was used to. Pepper knew how to handle men trying to get into her pants and could defend herself both verbally and physically if need be. But that wasn’t what Jim was doing at all. He seemed not only to still be interested, but sincerely wanting to understand her as well. Unfortunately, she couldn’t answer his question. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted, willing herself not to tear her napkin to shreds. “I’m not trying to play you, Jim. I promise. But I’ve never felt like this about someone, and it’s a little scary.” 

He chuckled. “Welcome to falling in love.” He held his hand back out to her and she took it, a shy smile creeping across her face to match the hopeful one on his. 

“So, does this count as that date?” she asked, half in jest, half serious. 

“If you let me pay for the coffee, sure.” Beyond his wink and gentle smile, she noted the set of his jaw. Jim Rhodes was a man who was willing to work for something he considered worthwhile. And apparently that now included her affections.

“Even if I don’t kiss you at the end?” It might seem cruel, to push at his boundaries, but she had to be sure that he was for real, and he understood what he was getting into.

“Yeah - I'm good with taking things slow. ” And she knew he meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this doesn't really make up for the ending of the main fic, I do hope it provides some sort of closure. 
> 
> I think I'm done with these Interludes, at least for now. And while I have ideas for a possible TLTIWGT sequel, it won't be coming for awhile, as another shiny Stony project has distracted me. 
> 
> Once again, thank you all who have taken this journey with me, either while it was in progress, or joining us afterwards. Your kudos and comments mean the world to me.


End file.
